


Stuck

by ssstrychnine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssstrychnine/pseuds/ssstrychnine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl has feelings and there are kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck

Daryl decides he’s going to tell her. The prison had been golden, safe as houses, until it wasn't. Until sickness rippled through them like a wave. It has shaken him worse than he lets on, the mess in cell block, Karen and David, and he wants her to _know_. In case the world ends worse than it already had. And now he was supposed to be getting ready to go to the vet’s college and it seems like the perfect time. Like ripping off a band-aid. Like ripping off a band-aid and fucking off to a vet’s college before she can say anything. 

He knew it was likely to be a disaster no matter the timing. He would see her, actually see her, and the words would stick in his throat and he’d mumble something stupid instead, _stay safe_ , and disappear. Stay safe. _I love you_. Same thing as far as he was concerned, nearly the same thing anyway, but maybe not enough. So he decides he’s going to talk to her and then he’s going to fuck off to the vet’s college. 

When he finds her she’s sitting amongst the water barrels, resting her head against her knees, and he doesn't realise she’s crying until he moves to sit next to her. When she startles, turns to look at him, when he sees her face wet with tears, he knows he flinches, can’t help it, hates himself for it, freezes in place like that might gentle the blow. Her lips are pressed together hard and she scrubs a sleeve across her face, shaking her head like she’s only just noticed her tears too.

“I’m fine,” she says, before he can say anything. 

“I know,” he replies, falling out of his crouch to sit next to her. He can feel the warmth coming off her, like a greenhouse, body heat dampened by tears. 

They sit together in silence because everything he’d had planned has gotten stuck somewhere inside him, just as he knew it would, and at some point Carol starts to cry again. She turns her face away from him but she can’t stop her shoulders from shaking. The way she bows her head, the soft curls of hair that are growing passed her ears, even the curve of her neck looks sad. He feels like he is watching her disappear. Carol, the strongest of them, the best. His hands are fists at his sides, he presses his knuckles against the concrete until the skin splits slightly. Carol’s shoulders shake and he wishes he could touch her in some way that would make it okay.

It takes maybe five minutes for him to break. Her silent cries stop being silent, little sounds escape her lips, whimpers and chokes caught in her throat. 

“Carol,” he says and abruptly the sounds stop, her shoulders freeze, her sleeve rises to wipe her face. She turns back to him.

“Daryl,” she says with a watery smile, failing at the mocking tone he knows she is aiming for, managing only to sound desperate. 

He doesn't know what to say, hadn't thought much passed her name, _something_ to snap her out of tears. And he’s done that, her skin looks clammy and the tendrils of hair around her face are damp and her sleeve has wet spots, but her eyes are dry. He just doesn't know what to _do_ now. Everything he’d planned to say seems impossible, absurd, inappropriate, and he swallows it down further.

“I gotta...we’re goin’ to the animal place, I came to get water,” is what he sets on and at least he knows that’s wrong too as soon as he says it. But Carol’s expression doesn't change, her smile doesn't fall, her tears don’t come back, she just smiles at him, and her eyelashes are wet and she looks so beautiful he has to turn away. 

“I’ll help,” she says quietly and she gets to her feet. 

She holds out a hand for him to take and he does because he could never refuse her and because he wants to and because moments like this are the only times really when he gets to touch her at all, when she invites him to. He overbalances some as she hauls him to his feet, ends up far closer to her than he anticipates, holding her hand still, breathing her air still. _I love you_ is hovering behind his Adam’s apple, creeping higher. She is so _close_ and her smile wavers slightly when he doesn't move away and her eyes widen and _I love you_ is on his tongue now and because it’s the only thing he can think of to stop the words, he kisses her. 

It lasts only a few seconds before his head catches up with his mouth and he pulls away abruptly, letting go of her, staggering back. Her mouth is open slightly, her eyes clear and bright and stunned and shattered, high points of colour on her cheeks, and her expression is one of absolute devastation. She takes a step toward him, _reaches_ for him, and her eyes are wet with tears once more and he just _can’t_. He leaves before she can touch him, stumbles backwards before turning and near running away. 

They don’t see each other for what feels like forever and when they do they’re both changed. He goes to her without a second thought, holds her close, lifts her off her feet, and it’s only afterwards that he thinks that maybe he shouldn't have. When he kissed her she looked like the world had ended. When he hugged her she looked like it was starting again. He doesn't know what any of it means but _I love you_ seems absurd now, something from a fairy tale he’d never belong in, and he thinks that just seeing her again is enough. He bottles the rest, as he always does, and everything he might tell her settles uncomfortably at the back of his throat. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, can I kiss you again_? He asks her more important things instead. _You okay? Wanna talk about it?_ And she doesn't, but they move back into whatever they had before, some kind of awkward comfort, neither of them willing to say or do anything that might change it.

He thinks about her collar bones and about her freckles. He thinks about running his hands through her hair. He thinks about fucking her, what she would _feel_ like. He’s stuffed to the brim with guilt about it but she smiles at him and she’s bright in his thoughts always.

She tells him about Lizzie and Mika and he wants to destroy the world for giving her that choice. For forcing her hand. For giving her so many children and then taking them away. He bottles that too, and just holds her hand. 

“You should try kissing me again,” she tells him one day, later, somewhere safe as houses. _Golden_. 

So he does, and she feels exactly like he thought she would, soft like clouds and hard like rain, and he thinks that anything more than that, declarations of love or lust or feeling, can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the CarylBYOB challenge, bottle was the prompt so I wrote about...Daryl's terrible emotional constipation. Obviously.


End file.
